


Blame It On The Body Glitter

by PippinTheRenegade



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, Parties, Pining, body glitter, oblivious and arguing courferre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 00:02:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6881032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PippinTheRenegade/pseuds/PippinTheRenegade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Friday night is party night for Courfeyrac and the worst night of the week for Combeferre. Finally- finally!- Ferre decided to say something, and his emotions spilled over into something he had tried to snuff out. Okay, he hadn't tried that hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blame It On The Body Glitter

"I'm going out."

Combeferre hated that phrase, however he heard it from Courfeyrac. In person or through text, it always meant the same thing, every Friday: have fun at home while I go get smashed. Some nights, Courf returned to the apartment covered in lipstick kisses and bruises on his collar, and jealousy clawed at Combeferre's heart like a caged animal. Others, he didn't come back at all, and Combeferre would pace and worry and seriously consider dragging the old radio scanner off the top shelf of his closet until Courf stumbled in at eight in the morning and wearing someone else's shirt.

Only recently had Combeferre started to admit how much he wanted to wake up to find Courfeyrac wearing one of _his_ shirts. They had been roommates for months, friends long before that, but he had finally acknowledged his emotions for what they were a few weeks ago. He though that, maybe, letting himself admit that he cared for Courf as more than a friend, that maybe he was in love, would alleviate the pain in his chest. If anything, it made things worse.

"Maybe, uh... Maybe you could stay home tonight?" Combeferre gently closed his book, fingers curling around the binding for some sense of security. 

Courfeyrac turned from the door, his hand still on the knob. "You wait until now to ask that?" He raised an eyebrow, and the way the glitter on his cheekbones caught the light could have stopped Ferre's heart.

Combeferre touched the frame of his glasses in a steadying motion. "Now is the first I'm hearing about it," he offered, forcing a hint of a smile. "We could order a pizza or take-out, something. Just chill here for a while."

"I already have plans, Ferre. Friday night is always my party night. You know that." Courf leaned against the door, his arms crossed over his chest, and Ferre fought to keep his focus off that stretch of stomach and the fine line of dark hair trailing up from his waistband. No wonder Courf made such an attraction at the clubs; crop tops and low-slung shorts and glitter added up to a tempting trap.

"Maybe..." The words stuck in Combeferre's throat. He dug his nails into his palm to kill the distraction with another. "Maybe you could do with a change, then. A quiet night, just you and me. We could watch a movie-"

"I am not watching nature documentaries until I fall asleep again."

"You can pick!" Ferre cursed how desperate he sounded.

Courfeyrac frowned at him. "I can't stay cooped up in here every night, Ferre. I've got people to see and energy to burn!"

 _Energy to burn._ That line rattled around Combeferre's brain longer than it rightfully should. "I-I could come along, then." He knew the next question would be "why," and a half-baked excuse tumbled from his lips. "Finals are over, so I've got free time again. A little dancing never killed anyone, right?"

Courf snorted a laugh before stifling the noise with a hand. "You?" he giggled, sputtering at the idea of Combeferre anywhere near a dance floor. "King of the Introverts and All Things Geek. At a club. Christ, that's rich, Ferre!"

Ferre blushed- whether from being laughed at or at the laugh itself, even he wasn't sure. "Alright, ha-ha. I mean it, though. I'd like to go." He dropped the _with you_ part off the end, and his one-handed grip on his book tightened. Security.

Courfeyrac eyed him strangely, then shook his head. "Oh please. The last party you went to willingly was the Purple Wedding in Game of Thrones. What is this really about?"

"I really want to spend time with you." Not a lie, technically. "Why is that weird?"

"But why _tonight?_ "

There it was. A silence, thick and heavy with expectation, hung between them for a long moment before Combeferre dared to break it. "I hate it when you go out." He flinched visibly when Courfeyrac's heel thumped hard against the door. "Not _that_ you go out, god, no! It makes you happy, and I like that part. But how you come back? Bites and kisses and scratches on your back and other people's clothes, it's maddening! I never know if you're late and safe or laying in a ditch somewhere. I wish I knew. I wish you-" The sentence died on his tongue and left him gaping, trying to fill in the blank before Courf jumped in a failing.

"Wish I what, Ferre?" Courfeyrac snapped, scowling as his face flushed red. "I'd quit going dancing? I'd pick up a more boring hobby? I dance, Combeferre, and I flirt, and sometimes I get lucky, but I'm not stupid! God, it's not like it's ever bothered you before."

"Yes, it has!"

"Since when?"

"Since I realized I wanted you to wake up beside me instead of some stranger you met at a club!" Combeferre wasn't exactly sure when he stood up, but he was on his feet now. His hands shook, and he clenched his fists to steady them, his gaze tracing patterns in the false hardwood. _Now_ he had fucked up. Royally so.

He teetered on his heel, ready to fall back into his chair and stay there until embarrassment killed him, but a steadying hand caught him. His eyes snapped up to meet Courfeyrac's before trailing away. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "Go if you want to. I shouldn't have said anything. I can't stop you. I won't. I'm sor-"

"Ferre, stop." And he did, somehow more confused. "Do you mean that?"

"Um... what part?"

Courfeyrac slapped his arm. "You know what part. Is it true?"

Ferre risked a shy smile. "Yeah," he murmured, not daring to move. Courf stood so temptingly close, and that glitter looked like stars from here. "And I make fun of Grantaire for his pining, ha. Like I'm any better."

Fingers twisted into the front of his shirt, the other hand gently guiding him back to eye contact. "You aren't," Courfeyrac said, his smile creeping back. He pulled at the fabric, drawing Ferre down low enough for their foreheads to touch. "I'm not either."

Combeferre gave a derisive snort. "You don't have to humor me, you know. I've made enough of a fool of myself without your help."

"You big, stupid clock tower," Courf growled, giving the shirt in his hand a hard tug. The jolt caught Combeferre by surprise, and he pitched forward enough for Courfeyrac to reach his lips. They crushed together in a kiss, rough and hungry, Courf's teeth gently grazing over the soft skin before Ferre awkwardly pulled away, flustered and cheeks ruddy.

"I don't-"

Courf huffed at him. "No, you don't. You've been so wrapped up in that big head of yours, I thought you'd never notice. God, and you want to be a doctor. Unobservant bastard. Maybe you'd be better at reading people if you weren't the size of a damn lighthouse with your head in the clouds."

Combeferre combed a hand through his curls, sinking back down to his chair. Weeks of conflicted feelings and gnawing jealousy- weeks!- and he could have just said something. Anything, apparently, by the way his bottom lip felt. "Why?" he asked at last, searching out the bloom of confusion in Courfeyrac's eyes. "Why do you leave so much if you wanted me?"

"I dropped hints for two weeks, blockhead. I figured you weren't interested." Courf took a step back and motioned for Ferre to follow. "Get up. If you're coming, we should get you changed."

"What?"

Courfeyrac gave that sputtering little laugh again. "You wanted to go dancing right? I swear, I'll stay right beside you all night, and you can do that big, scary 'Protective Ferre' thing if anybody gets to close, I promise." He disappeared around the corner and back to his room. "I'm sure I've got _something_ in here you could wear. Star Wars lounge pants do not a club outfit make, Padawan."

Combeferre stirred to movement at last, shoving himself out of his seat so hard that he stumbled before following Courfeyrac down the hallway. "And what exactly is wrong with my pants?" he asked, swinging around the door frame to find Courf holding what looked like a tank top made of glitter like it was a prize.

"Absolutely nothing. They'd just look better on my floor," Courf shot back with a grin, tossing the shirt at Combeferre. "Put that on."

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes work is boring. Sometimes work spawns Courferre. Special thanks to that part of my brain that likes to wake me up at 2am with short story ideas.
> 
> Comments and Kudos feed my soul. There's quite a bit of fun to be had on my [Tumblr page](http://theblazeofmemory.tumblr.com/)! As well as the joy of watching me flounder for words to bring you lovely folks.


End file.
